


And When I Lose My Mind (It's The Trouble That Remains)

by Anarchy_and_Piglins



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Angst, Character Study, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Self-Hatred, Technoblade Angst (Video Blogging RPF), Technoblade Needs a Hug (Video Blogging RPF), Technoblade-centric (Video Blogging RPF)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-04
Updated: 2021-03-04
Packaged: 2021-03-18 00:01:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,984
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29849505
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anarchy_and_Piglins/pseuds/Anarchy_and_Piglins
Summary: If blood is all you ever knew, it was an easy thing to return to.
Comments: 6
Kudos: 122





	And When I Lose My Mind (It's The Trouble That Remains)

**Author's Note:**

> -walks into this fandom a year late with Starbucks- Can I interest you in some Technoblade angst in these trying times?

His first real memories were coated with blood.

Not much more than that remained, the images distant and distorted over time and Technoblade didn't dwell on them often. There was no point to it either, he assumed, since the past hardly ever mattered when dealing with the present.

But what he did recall was the blood. The smell of sulfur hanging heavy in the air intermingled with rust, a scent he had associated with home back then but had since realized was intrinsic to the Nether. There was warmth, heat wafting up from the lava that cut through rock and permeated this world, but on his hands too. Slick and hot.

This was the first time a voice had whispered in Technoblade's mind.

_You are chosen,_ it had told him, with the finality of a judge handing out their verdict. Condemning the prisoner to receive the death penalty. _Rejoice, for you are destined for greatness._

The body of the thing – the person – he had killed lay unmoving, rapidly growing stiff beneath Technoblade's hands. He remembered that he had wondered who they were. He had wondered if he knew them.

* * *

(if perhaps, maybe, they had meant something to him before)

* * *

He spent most of his time after that on the Hypixel server because it made things better to deal with.

Death was not permanent on there, the admins had arranged it so. It was easier to test your strength and impress the crowd when there was no need to hold back – and Technoblade hated holding back.

The voices hated holding back more.

If he split skin and broke bone and drenched the earth in spray after spray of blood they cheered him on. Their presence was both comforting and disconcerting, running through his mind in fluid echoes, keeping him company in the silence. _Blood for the blood god!_ they demanded urgently. Technoblade gave them what they wanted.

Every opponent that went lifeless beneath his sword before disappearing in a puff of smoke to be respawned sent another thrill through him, presented in a wave of ecstasy blacking out all else. It was an easy thing to give into. Slipping towards a trance that sometimes had him literally blacking out, disconnected from his body. The threads faded away and the voices hushed him as he moved his weapon by mere muscle memory, cutting into sinew and flesh and tissue.

When he blinked back into consciousness he was covered in blood and the taste of iron lingered on his tongue, sticky down the back of his throat. No matter how much the voices were cheering, trying to convince him of their pleasure at his strength and how proud they were that he had been carried away with it, Technoblade felt sick to his stomach.

He heaved into the bushes, watching the disgusting remains of the meal he had before starting that day swirled through with clots of red.

The voices heckled him with protests that he ignored, as Technoblade vowed to himself he would never let it get that bad again.

* * *

(it did get that bad again. it got that bad many, many more times)

* * *

In the best way possible, Philza taught him to settle.

And in the worst way possible, Technoblade let him.

He was the first person Techno told about the voices, years after they had met. It was not the kind of conversation you could have with a stranger, or an acquaintance, or even a friend. But Phil was none of those things.

He was the calm of the sea minutes before a terrible storm wreaked its revenge on the unwitting sailors who had angered it, yet also the gentle touch with which one could drift the clouds along the sky. Phil had seen ages and sifted the stars through his fingers and Technoblade didn't know what to do with that information except be in awe of the person that stood next to him and treated him as an equal.

And the voices liked Phil.

"Does it hurt?" had been the only question, edged with worry and not an ounce of the weary suspicion Technoblade had been bracing himself for. He had expected that telling somebody you heard a chorus of disembodied maniacs clamoring for bloodshed inside your head could turn out badly.

"Not usually," he grunted. "They're just loud sometimes. Annoying."

Like children scrambling over themselves to get what they wanted. They couldn't even agree on _what_ it was they wanted, often supplying opposite opinions or trying to nudge him in different directions all at once. When denied their whims, they got petulant or threw a tantrum, and when they did it got noisy enough in his mind that Technoblade wanted to scream. But they didn't hurt.

"That's good," Phil said with a certain hesitance that made Technoblade suspect there was more there. He didn't inquire though.

Things could merely be good for a while.

* * *

(he tried not taking pleasure in it, but that was hard.

sometimes ripping into others felt too good to deny it had been a straightforward choice)

* * *

In myth, fate rarely had mercy on its chosen ones. As if destiny knew that it would do better at picking people it could break.

There were others. Technoblade wasn't fond of being surrounded by people but Phil had brought them and Techno didn't dislike them. He enjoyed those days in the way one enjoyed a pleasant dream, fleeting and agreeable.

Their family was stitched together from loose threads, fractured men with nothing to lose and nothing to gain, and only each other to mend the broken skin on their backs. Wilbur sang songs and Tommy was loud with life and Phil made sure there was always a warm house to return to at night.

And Technoblade stilled the voices and told them not to get attached, or maybe he was simply telling himself that.

Achilles was the original hero, and he only needed to have one weakness to succumb.

* * *

(they toppled a kingdom once, a world beneath their feet. louder than ever the voices sang his praises and were pleased with his progress. an entire nation at the mercy of the blood god.

Technoblade left in fear of what they meant, in fear of the pleasure it sparked.)

* * *

Idleness made him complacent, the strings pulled taut before they snapped clean through.

Technoblade was watching his own actions as if through murky water, unable to distinguish what he was doing clear enough to intervene. _Blood!_ they called excitedly, _Blood for the blood god!_

The desire flooded his senses, static inside his consciousness and the most frightening realization was found in how easily it settled within his mind. He couldn't say it overwhelmed him or dragged him away as he struggled to resist. The calling of the voices was his own, the yearning was his own. As inherently a part of him as the blood in his veins and the oxygen in his lungs.

This craving for violence was a part of him.

Phil had to pull him off before he could do any more damage.

"It's dead!" Phil's voice barely reached through the dissonance inside him. A drop of water in an ocean of chaos, swept away far too easily. "Techno- mate, you can stop. It's dead."

He turned around and lunged and then Phil was catching his wrist, holding it still. For a terrifying, blinding second the urge to tear into him was overwhelming. Then Techno registered who it was holding him back and it shook him to his core. He wanted to pull away but Phil's hold on him was too firm.

"I- I'm sorry." He was shaking.

The voices balked at his apology, trying to press it into his heart that he had nothing to be sorry for. He resented them for it.

"It's okay," Phil said, and then he was pulling Techno closer, close enough for it to almost hurt. "I'm fine, you're fine."

Technoblade sighed and leaned into the motion, helpless to resist. They sat there long enough for the blood to sink into his bones.

* * *

(they asked him to come because they needed a weapon, one that could cut through anything

Technoblade went because he had never been good at denying his nature)

* * *

They didn't often get this bad, but when they did the ruckus kept him up at night.

Usually, it took days or even weeks of ignoring them on his part, not straying during the hunt, not indulging even as the pulse of his prey slowed beneath his touch. Harboring their constant pleas and demands and goading for him to be more brutal with his enemies, remaining relentless in their urgency for blood.

And he didn't do it often but Technoblade had to deny them, sometimes. To remind himself that he held control over them. That the choice would still be his own in the end.

Then they kept him awake out of petty vindictiveness. It felt like a river rushing within his head, unable to be shut down or ignored. For hours Techno laid there and rolled over in his bed and then he went outside to mine or farm because if he couldn't sleep he might as well be doing something useful.

He did it until he was exhausted and they still didn't shut up and then he reached for the nearest serviceable tool he could use, sharp enough to slice through skin.

In his state of fatigue, it didn't take much to please them.

Three deep cuts with pain that hardly settled and then the blood was spilling over his arm, dripping onto the ground in rivets and the voices roared – mingled anger and approval. They were glad for the sacrifice but displeased with its origin. Blood was what they wanted, but he should not have been the desired source.

Still, he had worn them down long enough for them to not care. Any little trickle the same measure of satisfaction as the grand spill they were demanding.

_Blood for the blood god!_

Technoblade sunk into bed and finally slept.

* * *

_(You are chosen,_ it had told him. _Rejoice, for you are destined for greatness_

He watched as everything he touched crumbled, how destruction followed in his wake. He watched the world and the people he cared for tear themselves apart for power, and then he did the same for anarchy.

_Isn't it beautiful_ , it mused. _What a wonderful conduit for us that you are. So much suffering you have given us._ )

* * *

"T-The voice... do you-" Ranboo avoided his gaze, and for once Technoblade knew it had nothing to do with his enderman heritage and everything with the crushing guilt that was clearly weighing the kid down to the core. "Do you think it makes me a bad person?"

It couldn't escape his notice that he had this conversation before, though the positions had been reversed.

"Nah," he said. "Actions would. They're the only thing that matters."

"Oh..." If Ranboo was surprised by him having an answer locked and loaded, he did a good job not showing it. He fiddled with his hands, long fingers running over each other anxiously. "I do think that makes sense."

"It does. Of course it does."

It had to, since he couldn't bear the alternative.

Phil pushed open the door, holding on to his hat to keep it from being swept away by the snowstorm. "Are you guys coming inside or are you having that much fun freezing to death?"

"You're so dramatic," Techno complained but turned around to go back inside. Ranboo followed him.

* * *

("When will it be enough?" he had asked once, when he was younger and didn't know any better. When they had been more lucid.

He could feel their giddiness grow. A parent taking patient amusement at their child struggling to understand a world they could never hope to grasp. _Blood for the blood god!_

It was all the answer he needed.)

**Author's Note:**

> [My tumblr](https://anarchy-and-piglins.tumblr.com)


End file.
